Dawnlark Plains η

this thread is for the leadership of darukaal, winsook, and saatsine. sun eater will be inviting @Ice Diver & @Star Eater. @Faust is welcome to attend w whom he chooses, & skorpa will be with @Ayovi. this thread is also open to anyone else from these packs who want to be audience members or observers <3 no posting order!

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skorpa was not certain that ayovi was altogether pleased with what had been decided. she feared the takeover of their lands, and he supposed he shared that worry. but nothing good came of hiding in mountains. faust had his glacier now, and assuredly a woman if not more. like any northman, he would want to put down roots and hang the axe.

skorpa must trust in this thing he had made truth.

bearskin slapped to shoulders, he cut another swathe down from the snowy overhangs, forging the path ahead of her. she was competent and graceful; skorpa sought to help over over ice-rimed boulder and fallen trees all the same, irascible in the cold air, devoted beyond the feral light in his eyes.

the plains were barren now, ridges of frozen stone and a few sparse trees flung among ancient stone monoliths. one day they would be beautiful.

skorpa tossed back his head, calling to saatsine and to darukaal.

---

faust had been waiting.
tuhin’s words had lingered, whispered among the cold winds—rumblings of a nearby claim, a name he knew far too well. iskava. ayovi. a woman of rapt, and a man who had taken her.
a barbarian.
he knew enough of men like that. knew enough of what that could mean.
so when the call rose over the ice, he did not hesitate.
he did not answer—not in voice, at least. instead, he turned, already moving, already seeking.
@Iosef, his voice was steady, low, as he cast a glance to the man at his flank. he did not need to explain. they would go together.
the glacier stretched endlessly before them, wind howling in warning or welcome—he had yet to decide. faust did not rush, but he did not delay, either.
whoever called for him would not be left waiting long.

husband, the woman had said.

and what a man he was! not at all what sun eater had expected. a fetid, musky man, his stench worsened by the bearskin worn. she was lithe and stunning, moreso for all his ugliness. it was all the caribou hunter could do not to laugh aloud.

but he greeted them with a cutting lash of his tail, though stance did not change. the lanzadoii did not claim this land, yet what was beneath his claws was for now his own. he did not know why they had been called together, and was interested to know what might come of such a meeting.

politics was not something the man called cen had ever seen fit to learn, not till the glacier and ghaden and red leaf. now he would engage himself, and gain even more for the powerful and well-fed saatsine.

faust called upon him, and iosef did not hesitate to take his place by his baskaan's side. "aye. i am with you, brother." he murmured. voice rough like gravel, and the glimmer in his eye something far more grim. he was never a man to involve himself in politics—a fools game, in his eyes. but, he would not leave faust to shoulder it alone. 

after all, it was an honor to have been chosen. faust takes the lead, and ever the loyal hound, he follows. what would come of this meeting, he was not sure. as long as darukaal was secure and safe, he did not care. 

"i do not like this. they call upon us like dog." his voice bitter, sour. these packs were rivals to him; competition. but he would keep the muzzle on for now.

one-post cameo, will only respond if addressed :-)

tuhin was surprised to hear their encounter draw response so swiftly.

they had thought faust may see a threat, at least, in the saatsine. as for ayovi- they did not know what had been between her and faust, before, but there was history there. was it a history that bred enemies, or allies? it was not yet something they knew, and to not know made them...uneasy.

tuhin was content only when they understood each piece on the board, and likewise understood what might spur each player to action. here they did not understand as much as they desired.

when the call came, then, they turned on their heel to pursue it to the west. they had not received formal invitation, nor summons from faust- this was not a surprise- but it was not a call that excluded the rest of darukaal's people. and tuhin had meant to be present from the moment ayovi had extended this tentative invitation. for now, they were amenable to holding their tongue.

among the grass at the very edge of the meeting-grounds, keeping a respectful distance yet not concealing themself from view, tuhin identified faust, ayovi, the caribou-man, flanked by silvergrey shadows; then faust's companion they knew only from distance and scent-mark, and what must be the husband ayovi had spoken of.

a large gathering. tuhin found themself on edge, to view it. they did not know what agreement the agouti man hoped to broker, if it was indeed an agreement at all. they did not know faust's companion, or what he might make of the politics of this; little and less of the caribou people.

but they forced themself to calm. they had dwelled upon the glacier for only a scant few weeks, and if they were not summoned to speak, then they would watch, and see plainly which way the wind blew.

casting a considering look upon each, tuhin waited to see who might first break the silence.

Ayovi acknowledges Skorpa’s call with a straightening poise, indigo gaze brushing each individual as they come into the clearing. She’d dressed in the isabelline caribou as her husband did his bear, though nothing can temper the wild in her mate. Seeing the sun chieftain’s flagrant stare she presses a kiss to Skorpa’s jaw. To Ayovi, he makes their wintry hummock look like a throne. He does not gleam, he is not polished nor tidily arranged. But he is the same all the way through, without the need for a second face to hide behind; a monolith cut from a quarry, and likely the only one here who was.
“Saatsine: rensdyrjægere,” she whispers for his ear, indicating to Sun Eater and the two women at his flank, both striking images of silver and gray-blue eyes. One is heavily pregnant, and though Ayovi has yet to swell she feels an instinctual kinship with the woman. Her face softens.
In winter silence more wolves emerge, each moving within their own judgements and stratagems. She considers the fine glass tempers of men, the sulks of brittle egos; how each warrior would inevitably balance themself against their fellow. Ayovi too maps, surveys, noting tails and ears with clear-eyed precision and suspects it will be a great feat if they can manage to negotiate a domestic harmony.
When Tuhin appears she greets him with a gentle nod and shifts the fur over her shoulders. What remains uncloaked of an alpine ridge is taken by the wind.
She knows Faust is close now. Ayovi is nervous to see him again.

it was a blessing.
to be allowed to scathe the tundra as if she was a new born again. on the way to answering the call, star eater had been less than amicable. she was restless, growing bored in the confines of her dug out den, and the company of the young girls...well, it wasn't exactly substantial.
a revered queen of ice, she would but her flank against her husband's side, teasing him endlessly with her tail confidently in the air, belly ringing true with life upon the cold winds. she licked her lips, tasting the reverent herds that walked here. she was feverish with her delight.
but upon arrival, she settled into the calm, serene diplomat she once was. is. she was that for swiftcurrent, for akavir, but now she stood proud, tall beside sun eater.
there was a man draped in bearskin hide— she cast a brief glance to her own husband, lingering long enough to capture her own devotion and that he needn't such outward displays of pride. the charm she had cut by her own teeth still hung from him, her own claim, to any woman who dared challenge her.
over her shoulder she looked to the other wolves of saatsine— gjalla, blackfell. and just as quickly, she turned back.
eyes fell on a onceover of the bearskin man's wife— unfettered by the nuisance of a heavy womb, but all the same, she carried life. star eater's nostrils flared. an ear flicked, and maybe something akin to a soft smile on her face.
it was then she cast her attention towards the dark pair of wolves that descended north— hardened steel, cut from the glacier itself. she took a step closer to her own husband, reaping the vow of his protection amongst the onslaught of strangers. they were marvels, and she hadn't missed the way that blackfell crooned his neck towards the man with a scar separating his face from neck.
there are many, she whispered to sun eater, losing her nose into the plush furs of his neck.

they moved. called by unseen forces, words and songs sung upon the cold wind. sun eater had went at once, wife and war chief at his sides, and blackfell had seen no choice but to accompany. there was loyalty, not of his own accord, bitter and deep driven, for the chieftain; that he shadow his flank, divorce any who opposed him from their lives. there was instinctive urge to protect morwenna—and gjalla shared the same loyalties to her sister.

gjalla is at the helm of their waltz. her footfalls crunching furiously over ice and snow, swathing the lands in her festering emotions. blackfell is the knight clad in black armor at her side, teeth and claw steady sword, and crimson eyes lancing viciously over the scene that unfurls.

he comes to a stop. several feet behind the saatsine chieftain and the war chief, and several feet behind morwenna. he catches her eye when she looks back—it is quick, fleeting, and does not last. blackfell feels hackles twitch in response, but his eyes are wrenched elsewhere by the two figures who begin their descent from the glacier's might. faust, beloved cousin, shadowed by an unknown man—powerful in his own right.

blackfell feels pride in this display, and his chin slowly juts upwards in response, tail a twitch nervous at his hocks. he should stand with his kin, not away—and yet here he was. he presses closer to gjalla, exchanging a loitering, cold look with his promised.

cameo.

The phantom follows the two pairs at a great distance. A call had been sounded for the leaders in the region and though she was not one of them, none were many gathered, she assumed. Her placement was only here to insure the protection of the Saatine leader and evermore, her brother. Star Eater had now become an asset herself now that she bore the next generation of Lanzadoii. 

At first, she is but a speck in the snowy distance though trails nearer as those come to gather. She remains behind the four of Saatsine, close enough to hear the words which they speak, yet not close enough to invite conversation her way.

cameo <3

She is skirting the plains when the thrum of voices draws her near enough to see dark shapes amidst the snow. Chieftain is there and Dark man too, in a crowd of those she does not know. 

The Tartok women stays no longer than is necessary to discern their numbers before turning heel towards the glacier. It is not like her to dismiss a calling of power, but Nagruk is fixed on unearthing the truth of their neighbours that the niceties of politics often hides.

cameo unless shes addressed.

---

gjalla stands at the heart of it all, where ice and steel meet beneath an indifferent sky. the air is crisp, the tension between groups is palpable. she does not flinch. she does not waver.

she walks beside blackfell, his dark presence shadowing hers, a knight carved from the dark itself. she holds her head high, posture poised, but her emotions swell beneath the surface, a slow-burning fire against the tundra’s eternal cold. 

morwenna’s gaze flickers back. gjalla meets it with a quiet, unreadable look—acknowledgment, perhaps, before the pregnant woman turns back. as the moment passes, and her attention turns to the figures descending from the glacier’s height. 

two other men, one with the pelt of raven and gold, the other a myriad of browns—both unfamiliar, but not unimpressive. there is power in his bearing, something cut from the same merciless stone as the land they stand upon. blackfell stiffens beside her, a subtle shift, his tail twitching at his hocks. 

she presses against him, brief but grounding, a silent exchange. steady.

her gaze sweeps over the gathering—saatsine, sun eater and his warriors. the bear-cloaked man and his wife, bearing the promise of life in her frame, just as morwenna. the bastard and his bearish friend.

gjalla says nothing, but there is something knowing in her stare. undefined.

for the sake of not being too confusing & also staying open to anyone else who wants to join, let's keep a leadership/emissary post order! none for cameoing chars, feel free to keep observing <3 ice diver, jump in any time if u would like <3

skorpa > faust > sun eater > iosef > ayovi > star eater

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first to come was a tall man with a brutish look to him. skorpa was familiar with the look of a hunter who preyed upon his own. a jewel in the haft of a sword, that torn eye. less welcome was how the stranger gazed at ayovi, provoking a harder look from stjerneberg's northman. beside him were others, though his eyes were drawn too upon the chieftain's woman. her pregnancy reminded him of how ayovi would change in much the same way, reminded him of what there stood to be lost.

saatsine. hunters of reindeer. some softening alongside his mate, but skorpa maintained his silence as four more wolves came to shadow their chieftain. among them then, the imposing forms now on approach: darukaal. faust, with another beside and a third in silence.

northmen appraised one another, proverbial axes held lightly — but in hand.

skorpa lifted his chin. "faust. jeg havde håbet, at du ville komme." a lie, and the other would know it. the bearman wished to show his dedication to this meeting, but more than that, he wanted to catch faust off-guard.

in true dogged fashion, he suspended the meeting entire to address the darukaal man, to settle this now for them before any talks began.

"der har været stridigheder mellem os, men meget har ændret sig." a tactian's portion of skorpa did not like that he had brought ayovi, that she was not protected on their slopes. he played his hand to the northman; he showed his care and where it was centered.

the burning eyes were resolute. "bjerget søger fred." axe in proverbial drop, stabbed into the ground between them.

a truce.

but he did not let go faust's eye. not yet.

and skorpa grinned with bloody teeth.

faust descended the mountainside with the patience of a wolf who had long since mastered the art of restraint. his steps were measured, his presence undeniable. at his flank, iosef moved with a quieter intensity, his eyes sweeping the gathering, missing nothing. he took his place beside tuhin.
as they approached the assembled wolves, faust’s gaze flickered across them. unfamiliar figures, but strong—he could tell by the way they held themselves, the way their muscles coiled beneath their fur, the weight of their presence. his lip curled slightly at the scent of the iskava, earthy and fertile, a scent akin to life beginning.
watch everyone, he muttered lowly to iosef, voice barely more than a breath of cold wind. there shall be no bloodshed, unless they demand it.
and then, his attention turned to the one who spoke first. skorpa. the ugly norseman.
he met the man's gaze head-on, unflinching, the way two warriors might size each other up before battle. there was history in that look, though not one faust cared to entertain at present.
mikið hefur breyst. he echoed the words in norse, his voice firm, betraying no emotion. he let the statement linger.
his stare did not waver. this was no ordinary gathering. there were too many factors at play, too many unknowns. he knew better than to trust a blade that had only just been sheathed.
hvaða skilmála setur þú? faust asked, a sharp, assessing edge to his tone. because there always was one.

large and wild men descended from the glacier overlooking the river. darukaal, he knew by scent. the man tuhin too was here, and the lanzadoii hunter fixed him with a glance of recognition. it pleased sun eater how many of the sun clan had trailed after; a show of strength, as much as the display of his virility showcased by his wife's rounded sides.

ah. filth-eater did not care for one-eyed appreciation of the pale she-wolf caped in furs. sun eater met his stare and relented.

saatsine were fierce. they were many. they were fertile. it was a message to both darukaal and the mountain-dwellers.

he did not know the words they spoke, the dirty man with the pretty wife, and the hard-eyed warrior who had come down from the sheet of ice.

camaraderie might be found among darukaal, he felt, between he and faust. "we are many," he murmured to star eater with a quick grin of scintillated confidence.

the two with the same tongue postured. lanzadoii muscles tensed; he would not mind if it came to blows, though he would rather his woman far from clashing teeth.

the were many, and it left him unsettled that they were outnumbered. faces he did not know and did not care to know. all their leering eyes making his lips curl with disgust, with the urge to blot them out. but faust ordered he only watch, and so he would. towering by his baskaan's side, strong and resolute, head low as his glare shifts from wolf to wolf, before settling on one who spoke to Faust.

a putrid, foul thing. his smell strong enough to blind the valley. a stench Iosef wanted to rid of—he did not like the look in the filthy man's eye. he did not like the tone of voice he was using. as if they were better than darukaal. as if iosef was supposed to give two fucks about the pack he and his wife were to found. 

as if he cared about peace.

it took much within him not to growl, even more to not spit at the putrid man's feet. instead, he takes a seat, staring the man down with a grimace. as if even looking upon him hurt.

In these late weeks, the huntress had time to consider what kind of wife she wanted to be to Skorpa; what kind of mother she would be to their children. Big Sky allotted the role of silent support to the tribes’ women and Ayovi had dutifully conformed. Now she steps forward to join with the norsemen at the clearing’s tense heart. Pawtips twine with Skorpa’s own, so long as the bear was near she had no reason to fear Faust. Blue eyes glance between both men, finally docking over the familiar evergreen of Darukaal’s leader.
“Faust,” she greets, dipping her nose. For peace to work, old enemies must treat one another as neighbors. It has to begin somewhere. Her gaze is drawn to the large, ochre man beside him. His earthen eyes are hard and angry, but his grimace is mantled— at least for now.
The Saatsine glance around at one another, straight-backed, taking formation behind their leaders. There is abhorrence; disgust thrown at her husband’s feet. He is too composed to react and Ayovi grasps for such indifference, even when her heart kindles in flame.
The warriors converse in danish, and though fragmented, Ayovi apprehends enough from her husband’s teachings. Pulling lightly from Skorpa’s side, the ivory invites not only the northmen’s attention, but all who have convened.
“Thank you Saatsine, Darukaal, for heeding this call. All in attendance hold great status within their tribes. I am Ayovi Ankgunquint, wife to Skorpa, residents of the North Mountain.” Nova high and above behind them, the falls steaming violently, sending tendrils of mist into the valley’s lower pastures.
“The norsemen talk of terms for peace,” she continues. “In the west, where I am from, there are fractured, quarreling people. There is war, and violence, and conscription into eachothers’ armies. A grim, wasted distraction from what truly matters.” On the pregnant woman her eyes touch now.
“Let us declare peace in the North. Let us allow our clans to travel and hunt safely. Let us open opportunities for trade.” She did not imagine there were vast markets yet— at least, not until the inhabitants had extra luxuries for goods. Still, such an arrangement would consider peace a long-term recourse.
There she leaves the motion to circulate, turning then to seek Skorpa's gaze and hoping it is not dissatisfaction she finds upon his face.

her husband is a force, standing amid the men of darukaal and the norsemen, unshaken by the presence of those who do not share his tongue. his confidence is a tangible thing, coiling around his shoulders like a mantle of war. but she knows him, knows the impatience that lurks beneath his skin.
she does not miss the glint in his eye—the challenge, the unspoken dare to see who would flinch first.
her response is not immediate. instead, she leans in, tracing a slow kiss along his jaw, grounding him in the way only she can. listen, she breathes, quiet, for him alone. she does not wish for him to feel lesser, but he must understand. the men speak of peace. they seek freedom to move, to trade. the white woman—ayovi—she asks for safety in the north, so that no clan must fight for scraps.
her tail flicks as she watches the woman speak, watches how the others listen, some with scrutiny, some with open disdain.
it is a request, she continues, her voice level, measured. but it is also an opportunity.
she looks to the saatsine hunters forming behind them, their strength evident in the set of their jaws, the readiness of their bodies. you will decide what is best, husband. but consider this—war is easy. peace is power.
she glances once more toward the norsemen, toward the men speaking in words she does not know, and then back to sun eater. you are strong enough to defend our whelps. this i know.

---

they did not trust one another, and this was well. this was good. skorpa had no terms to set, for it was ayovi who spoke next. using commontongue, she drew the eyes of the men in a way which made him examine each face for lust.

bearman of the lone mountain did not know half of what was uttered by his mate, but he put all stock and trust in it. there was loathing for him, distaste, and his mouth slowly creaked in a grin which showed the newly reddened teeth once more.

let them dislike. let his stench fill their nostrils. those who had scented skorpa in the night knew it was a malaise of death, and feared it accordingly.

but had he not set aside his axe?

he could not squat upon the mountain while faust decided he had been wronged. it was dangerous but decisive to move in the open, and he looked at his proud mate with great affection.

"ayovi's mand er enig." she would tell him later all she had said, skorpa knew. his eyes took in the soft whispers of the saatsine woman which he could not hear, the derisive stare of the darukaal wolves, but otherwise he did not speak again, standing for now as hard muscle in defense of regnvand.

---

faust listens.
his gaze does not linger long on skorpa—he has already decided his feelings on the man. instead, he watches ayovi, observes the way she steps forward with words of peace, with the delicate precision of someone who knew exactly how to maneuver among men who wanted blood.
his lips press into a firm line.
he turns from the norseman, the weight of his stare settling instead upon iosef with a quiet grimace. a silent exchange. a conversation between soldiers who had fought enough battles to know when it was time to set the sword aside.
faust is not an unreasonable man.
he would have liked to rip skorpa’s head clean from his body. to leave it in the snow for the crows and walk away, wiping his paws on the frozen earth. but they were not alone. and if ayovi's cubs wanted a father, then it should remain that way.
he exhales slowly, looking back at her, expression unreadable.
it would be wise, he says at last, voice even, measured. but there is a warning laced beneath it, an edge that does not fade.
let there be peace—but let no one forget that his teeth were still sharp.

more speaking, more rolling tongue almost musical in its cadence. then the pretty snowstorm stood forward, and of course his eye was drawn to her. peripherals surveyed to the other men to assure he was not alone, and he listened.

the two males who spoke the same seemed to have reached a peak then smoothed by mate to stinking-man. sun eater was intrigued by his interplay, then moreover by his mate, who began to whisper in translation.

war is easy. peace is power.

sun eater thought of the slicings he had suffered, the girl he had lost. comforting then, to picture the dark amulet he made in hopes of trapping her spirit.

there was an agreement from the darukaal man. 

lanzadoii hunter looked thoughtfully toward his wife. if he allowed her to speak on his behalf, he must trust that she said only his words. if he spoke for himself, he would stumble and be ragged, yet it was his voice which would land upon their ears.

he thought.

peace is power.

"tell them i will agree for free passing across their land. i will not camp on the mountain. i will not settle in the glacier. but saatsine must be free to hunt and to roam. we have many fine pelts which can be traded to those who do not walk so far. is it agreed?"

he looked upon her face, eye flickering to star eater's belly, then back to the assemblage, where slowly he caught the eye of faust with a darker look of approval. saatsine did not only have hides.

they had captives.

continued cameo <3

ah!

blackbird recognizes the two from the peak now. the white, snow-dusted woman who had led the two norsemen into a clash of blades. enraptured his cousin, and that man. the one caked in grime and blood, stinking of rot and carrion.

he observes quietly, contently, as the exchange flowers. ears pricked as he listens in on their conversation with an eagerness, teeth unveiling briefly as his lips slide upwards to curl. the norsemen arrange peace—but faust does not look keen on it. blackfell supposes he would be the same if such a thing happened to him. it was quite a blow to the ego.

the man presses closer to gjalla, perhaps unknowingly, his neck stretching to peek around at the full splay of the gathering. the snow woman speaks now, projecting her voice powerfully; much to blackfell's delight! he cannot stop the chuckle that falls from his mouth, muffled only by the fur of gjalla he grazes his chin upon.

star eater leans to whisper words into sun eater's ear. blackfell watches with burning eyes before they pass once more to gjalla, exchanging a knowing look.

these two rn:

the filth's wife spoke. iosef listened with turned ears, a sneer permanent upon his face. she spoke with conviction, speaking of the opportunity for a truce. a neutrality. but the soldier was not fond of the idea of these wolves walking amongst darukaal's lands. they did not need their pelts, their medicines, their fucking commodities. they were self-sufficient, as they should be. 

peace was a farse. it was a thin veil placed over the eyes of sheep. it was obvious, the tension between faust and the filthy man. that tension would last longer than this fucking peace treaty. it was all so fishy, so convenient...

and yet, his baskaan looked to him. a silent conversation. a declaration for him to be at ease. no blood would be spilled here. he snorts, his displeasure evident in the way he rasps a curse. "ты знаешь, что это чертова ложь, брат." but, he would obey. with a roll of squared shoulders, he stands tall, his weapon haltered. for now.

if the filth was being deceitful, it did not matter. he would fall as quick as he came.

Ayovi’s mand. It bursts something inside of her, an immediate fear that she’s overstepped. Women did not speak like this and Ayovi has the grace to feel a stroke in her nerve. Skorpa’s face holds such raw affection and yet it occurs to her a lack of understanding may weigh heavily on him. Swiftly she returns to his side, searching his face. His smoldering eyes regard her only with perfect trust. She smiles, pressing her nose into his jaw before turning gaze back upon the others.
Peace is hard work. Harder than war. It takes far more effort to forgive than to kill. Some stand in blinking silence. Perhaps they know how to make these hard decisions. Other eyes turn heated; feral as a cornered cat’s. Ayovi did not want these wolves upon her mountain heights. She grew protective of the swell in her belly, and meant to set an edict declaring harsh penalties if any tribe prevented the other’s safe travel.
“The mountain, Saatsine, and Darukaal must agree to this stipulation:,” the huntress’ voice rises once more, “a cessation of unprovoked hostilities upon neutral ground. Any violent act will be met with severe reprisal and the rescinding of this allegiance.”
Flush then to Skorpa, longing to adjourn if no other would speak. Let them hunt as one and agree to hammer out finer details of an accord later. She wanted only the eyes of her husband now.

star eater’s ears pricked at the hush of voices, tension coiling like fog between the gathered clans. these were heavy words spoken, thicker than the snow that cloaked the earth beneath them. agreements. peace. trust. the weight of it pressed to her belly, to the unborn who would soon inherit whatever path was laid here.
she tilted her chin toward the pale woman—ayovi. the swell of her body did not go unnoticed, nor the way she sought her husband’s gaze as if anchoring herself to his silent strength. star eater understood it well. she knew that bond. the need to be heard, to be respected, while still leaning into the force of another.
he agrees, star eater said, her voice smooth and assured, rising for all to hear. saatsine will not settle in the glacier, nor will we make camp on your mountain. but we will walk freely, as we always have. as we must.
her eyes flicked to ayovi, and with the barest of smiles, she added, the pelts we carry are worthy trade. caribou spirits have been generous this season.
and then, softer—directed only toward the white woman across the gathering, so that only those nearest might hear, we understand the protection of young. i do not ask your mountain to risk its future. only that we hunt in peace, and let the cubs born beneath this sky know the strength of unity, not the hunger of war.
with that, her gaze shifted back to sun eater, catching the way his eye roved from her belly back to the others, and she gave a nod—small, but certain.
let it be known, star eater finished, stepping just enough to stand beside her husband, close enough their pelts brushed, the saatsine agree. the lanzadoii stand behind this peace.
and for now, at least, it felt true.

---

faust appeared to agree, albeit reluctantly. the reindeer hunters spoke in their language; he gazed at the ones who had come with the chieftain, assessing. one of the darukaal swords spat a third language in rejection.

but skorpa had not expected a settled peace or even affability. he would rather avoid such false overtures. the tension between them stood. yet they must keep this peace.

again ayovi spoke, tones filled with resolution. though he did not know the many-syllabled words used, the bearman understood that there must be punitive response if this fightcease were to be broken.

he filled his eyes with her, glancing up when the reindeer-woman spoke. her voice was an expansive alliance, a full acquiescence to the terms set.

"we hunt. we feast," skorpa finished with heavy accent, posture softened.

but the burning eyes did not lessen their intensity, not as he prepared to turn away with his wife and return to more isolated locales.

---